Attack on Baker Street
by SuckMyDeck
Summary: Sherlock Holmes, after losing a majority of his family and friends with the fall of Saint Martyr wall, decided to go into the military training for soldiers with his closest friend, and part time lover John Watson. But can Sherlock separate his love for necessity, above the overwhelming sentiment he feels for those he's lost? Notes:


The year is 2015. The United States, as well as a large portion of the earth, have become overrun with large, overgrown, humanoid creatures, known as Titans. They are a gigantic species, who appeared, most literally, back in 1950. Their inevitable attacks, and overall effect of the world, the populace's technology, brought back from its already basic form, took an almost completely medieval standpoint. When the attack on our modern world first started, the people were caught off guard. Many countries weren't prepared, and once the titan's arrived, didn't make long enough to put up an actual fight. The beasts appeared at the borders of each country, slowly making their way inward. It was horrifying. If people didn't run, they were snatched up, and devoured. Though it's been proven that the Titans don't have to consume to survive, they do so anyway, almost instinctively, on humans, upon sight. So, as one could imagine, their arrival was a bloodbath. Making a first appearance in China, the Titan's soon overran the land, swiftly taking over all of Asia. It was then their population, with what little survivors they had left, decided to begin living in underground caverns. That, however, didn't last long at all. The giants dug their way through, and took out the small, thriving populace in less than one night after the channels completion.

The United States however, handled it differently. They began to develop an array of bombs, and guns; weapons in general, specifically built to take on the foreign threat. However, the country's thirst for wealth, even in such a dire situation, led to its very own destruction, when, in an attempt to transport some of the weapons towards the border of Canada, led to the biggest falter the United States could have made. Half way through the trip, the titans seized the collected unit. Consuming the entire team of military operatives, as well as whatever other people surrounded them, left the weapons supply abandoned and out of reach to the military. Due to the inconvenient location of the weapons fall, the President of the time, decided to drop one of their newest crowning achievements. Blinded by the glory that could be brought on if his plan did work, President Henry S. Truman organized for a string of Adam bombs to be dropped along the area of the recent attack. Unfortunately, this meant the bombs would fall just on the borders of one Canada. Truman, however, didn't care. Following through with the action, he approved of the strike.

The bomb fell on the borders of Canada at exactly 6:47 a.m. on September 16th, 1952. It didn't work. If at all, it only killed and injured a total, of what seemed to be, three Titans. Unfortunately for Truman, the bombs were not enough. And, with the bombs being dropped on the borders of Canada, it put the two, once brotherly countries at war. With that distraction, in addition to the Titans advancing, soon enough, both the U.S., and three quarters of Canada fell in less than 6 months afterword's.  
The only lasting relief camp still standing proudly in Canada, is located in Iqaluit, Baffin Island.

With this going on, it gave the innovational thinkers time to do what they do best.

August 19th, 1955, a man in Grafschaft County, Wittgenstein (Germany), developed the 3D Maneuver Gear. This tool was almost like a rock climbing belt, but for trees. It allows one to freely make their way through the air, using their surroundings, to go from one place to the other, without touching the ground. In it's developmental stages, the maneuver gear was just a joke. However, once the military caught wind that the man had gotten the gear working, and had also used it to slay a Titan, there was celebration.  
With the discovery of the maneuver gear, the man had also proudly found the one weakness of the Titans.  
A deep incision to the base of the neck, towards the back, is usually the only way to kill them. This being found out, led to the broad dispense of the gear. Though, most of it, went to the only country, other than Germany, that was still thriving. England.  
When the Titans first struck in the United Kingdoms, the response was fierce, organized, and well thought out. There were loses, deaths, but a majority of the people made it, and immediately headed to London. Where, the construction of the three walls began. The first wall, the tallest wall, that soon became known as, Saint Bartholomew, to those who knew of it, surrounded the home of the Queen, Windsor Castle, as well as a large portion of the higher, upper-class area surrounding the Queen's residence. It stood at about 50 meters high. The area within the walls, soon became known as "Queen's District". The second wall, that became known as Saint Laval, surrounded a slightly more spaced radius. It circled around Saint Bartholomew, covering the perimeter around it. The district that Saint Laval, the second wall, protected, became known as "Revolutionary District". Due to the relocation of the 3D maneuver gears creator from Germany, to there. Finally, Saint Martyrs, the third wall, laying on the outmost perimeter of the previously mentioned walls, protected the "slums" of London. The "Roman District".

But, to the people who grew up there, it was always known as the "Conspiracy District". Regardless of how much the dwellers of Queen's District, or even Rev. District, denied it, the purpose of Saint Martyrs was clear; distraction.

"With the slums, and the less important dwelling on the outside of the hive," Sherlock huffed, adjusting his belt. "The Queens District, and the Rev. District don't have to worry about being overrun."

Sherlock fiddled with his maneuver belt, shaking a bit in the harness, swaying slightly. This was the training camp. Located just on the other side of Saint Laval, this is where all of the survivors of the attack on Saint Martyr's went, or rather, most of them, whom wanted to become soldiers. Becoming a part of the Military Police would allow Sherlock to gain the proper training, as well as opportunity to slay the very curse that wanders aimlessly just outside the walls.

"Sherlock, if you keep swaying like that, you're going to fall," John chimed in, rushing Sherlock back to thought.

The galaxy eyed man looked down at his harness, then up at the poles that supported his weight. He had nothing to worry about, he had this under control.

"Yes, whatever, but do you get my point? That's why they had no problem just closing the gates on us during the evacuation. We were basically livestock, waiting to be devoured." Harsh words left thin lips, as Sherlock swayed in his belt, almost enough to fall, but not quite. His arms shot up, shaking a bit, threatening to spill, before he finally held himself up again.

"I think you're just over thinking it." John said, his own eyes wandering off to the side, as he shook his head. He didn't like feeding into Sherlock's conspiracy theories. It only seemed to fuel his want to fight. Not that John was complaining, his father, and his father's father were both soldiers in the Special Operations Squad. But that didn't entail in him blindly running into battle. That was something he prefer to think out, if possible, and act accordingly, if need be.

"Over thinking it? The only reason I'm here now is because those damned fuckers broke through Martyr, over ran Conspiracy District, and killed my family in the process!" The words shot out, and with the silence that followed, Sherlock's eyes grew. There he was, showing his hand again. It wasn't as though sentiment was an issue. Due to all of the death brought on by the Titans arrival, there was nothing really left to worry about, or feel sentimental about. His only worry being his older brother, Mycroft, Sherlock didn't want to get too emotional. Being led by something so unstable is a weakness.

"Nonetheless…" Clearing his throat, he gave a small shift, leaving him swaying a bit in the harness again. "The only reason I'm even here is so I can kill the bastards, make it into the Military Police, and be by Mycroft's side again."

"You don't need to worry about Mycroft," John said, his form on the training gear was as solid as the rock. It looked almost as though he was barely trying as well. "He's all the way in Queen's District. Safe, sound and taken care of."

Furrowed brows, followed by raging eyes turned to look at John. "No! It's not something I have to worry about. It's something I want to do." The tall, thin male began to shift in his belt, the threat of falling rearing its head again. Yet he went on, "I want to be by my brother's side because he's all I have left!"

Now he was getting tripped up, and finally, gravity took him. The wind rushed by his ears, ruffling his curls as he toppled backwards, dangling now, upside down on the holster. His eyes however, didn't change. Instead of undoing his belt, Sherlock shifted all of his weight to his legs, and sent himself flying forward, steadying himself on the harness once again. Turning to see, one now completely shocked John.

"How did you- …No one's been able to do that on these yet." John's astonished tone was only matching to his expression.

Unfortunately, Sherlock hadn't any intention of continuing the conversation. Undoing his harness, and belt, he landed, gracefully, on the ground below him. He was going to walk off, before he smirked. Turning, he made his way over to the panel where John was, stopping directly in front of him.

"You know, for someone who loves a fight as much as you do, you like playing The Saint." The taller male huffed out, bringing a finger to flick the left line of John's harness, making his shift a bit. "So, I'll explain this to you so you can understand. It's not that I have to worry about it. Not even that I want, or like to. I want to be here. I want to fight these things. I want to be able to protect the ones I love, if need be. So, John," Holmes leaned forward, smirking a bit as he brushed their lips, before pulling away, winking. This left John blushing madly, eyes widening as Sherlock pulled away, arms coming cross upon his chest. "Don't tell me what I should worry about, or how I should handle things. There's a reason for everything I do."

Saying nothing more, he turned, hips swaying as he made his way back across the field towards their camp, ironically named "Baker Street", due to it's location on the once was thriving street in London.

"I'll meet you in the room." A thin, pale arm rose, waving Watson adieu from behind, as Sherlock made his way. This, put John in a position to be as flabbergasted as prior. Only now, he brought himself back in time just enough to catch view of Sherlock's plump bum wagging about as he strode back towards camp. Smirking lightly, John sways a bit in his gear, his head tipping back as he watched his lover walk off.

"You're such an obnoxious ass…" He said to the air as Sherlock's form dwindled, and dispersed into the shadows cast through the moonlight.

Giving an almost disappointed sigh, John reached down, unclipping his harness, and belt. He landed, sloppily on his feet, almost falling over, before regaining his balance once more. Another late night session with the practice maneuver gear. He'd spent his nights doing better things, but practice is crucial. Even if it cost him a night's sleep.


End file.
